We Don't Have To Talk About It
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: Charlie loves Adam, has always loved Adam. Everything else is a choice. Post-canon.


Adam Banks is a bloody bastard. Charlie's known that since…well, forever. But like with most things Charlie knows to be true – like that smoking pot and getting trashed the weekend before finals is not a good idea – he chooses to ignore it.

It's strange really, how feelings and knowledge blend together, forming something different, something of its own. Charlie can't quite be sure what it is that he actually knows about Adam and what he chooses to know. It had always been easier that way, easier to bridge the gap between them, the endless chasm of questions and non-answers, of betrayals and sacrifices. They float around in that hole that Charlie has both acknowledged and ignored since he was a child, long before he knew what any of the feelings he had meant. Long before it mattered.

What really matters isn't that Adam is miles away playing college hockey, or that his grades are suffering for the first time in his life because he spends four times as much time skating than studying. Mr. Banks isn't happy, of course. Nothing makes Mr. Banks happy; there are just some people like that, Charlie thinks, who are never happy. Not giving two shits about how his father feels about his Cs and Bs is just about the most rebellious thing Adam has ever done. That and leaving the Varsity team back in high school. Charlie is still confused by that. Before – before the betrayal – he would have thought it was for him. He would have hoped it was for him. But not after – Adam had burned that bridged, and rebuilding it was a laborious task. Charlie still can't be sure if he is done with it, if they will ever be. Once something breaks, it's hard to trust it again, like stepping onto ice in early December while remembering that you fell through when you did that last year.

Adam isn't very rebellious. Neither is Charlie, but Charlie doesn't have to be. There's no one actively trying to strongarm him into anything. No one but himself, anyway. Neither of them has officially come out, but Charlie has no reason to. He just…dates or doesn't date and people get the point. Adam…pretends that romantic relationships are these imaginary things that only happen in books. At least Charlie has never seen him with anyone. Not that everyone doesn't already know. It just sort of became obvious at some point in high school. Adam is passive aggressive about it, as he is about most things. He never says anything but never denies it, never dates a girl to cover it up but, again, no one's ever seen him with a guy. Charlie hasn't anyway.

He asked Guy once, because Guy had been Adam's roommate at Eden Hall but Guy just shrugged. "Nope." Charlie had just waved it off, waved off that look Guy was giving him. That _you should ask him out _look. Right. Because that would go over well.

It _was _Guy who figured it out first. Although Fulton and Jessie will both say that honor lies with them. Dwayne – for all that he's been Charlie's roommate – was practically the last to know, which was funny, since Charlie wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been told he talked about Adam in his sleep. He certainly thought about the prat enough. Had, anyway. Back then. That's why when Guy asked if he wanted to share a room with Adam, Charlie had declined. Everyone thought he was still hurt, but really he just didn't want to make a fool of himself. Again.

He did that a lot with Adam – made a fool of himself. _"On behalf of the Ducks, I'd like to say welcome"; "He can have my spot"; "You had one of _us – _Banksie." _No mind that "Banksie" had been a bully who would target him especially at the games, or that "Banksie" knew full well they had a full roster when he showed up to showcase his miraculous recovery, or that "Banksie" had walked away, leaving them with the bill, without even a word of protest. Oh no, protest isn't Adam's thing – he's not rebellious.

But what Charlie knows about Adam and what he chooses to know are two different – very different – things. And they'd gotten in the way of every decent relationship Charlie could have had. Because no one can compare with a fantasy, especially one that has been carefully and lovingly – hell, obsessively at times – constructed over many years.

Charlie doesn't play hockey anymore, he's off to a nice law school in the fall and he only ever sees Adam over break. It hardly makes a difference.

They Skype. Maybe that's the problem. But Charlie's unconvinced.

Now he's just a nervous wreck, gathering up snow between his hands with his gloves off, watching the white mass melt slowly against his skin. Being back home is like falling into a warm, familiar…black hole. It's nice being home, the way it's nice to stay in bed and sleep. You crawl in there when you don't want to see the world, but once you've had enough sleep, enough time to take pity on yourself, your entire body begins to itch to get up and out, to see something but the inside of your head, given that that's actually, usually, not the best place to be anyway. Jessie had met him at the train and they'd gotten lunch. Charlie had managed to not ask about Adam – he was proud of that. Jessie seemed disappointed at the end – maybe he'd been expecting the question.

For whatever reason, they all kept expecting him to do something, to make some move toward Adam. Funny, seeing as how he'd made so many moves before, but no one noticed them then aside from Guy's occasional funny looks. Of course, they'd been kids. It was _different. _

It was never different, just no one cared to see until Charlie decided to give up.

Adam had texted after dinner, asked if Charlie wanted to hang out. Charlie had never learned how to say "no" to him.

So here he was, at the lake, where they'd usually meet, scooping up snow and allowing his hands to freeze.

Adam's footsteps creak through the snow, the expensive boots he's wearing won't last very long in this weather – they're too thin. Adam brought his skates. He hardly goes anywhere without them; it's a bad habit, even Adam acknowledges that.

"You never called to say you were home."

"No, sorry, got busy with Mom. Want a smoke?" Charlie hold's out a pack of cigarettes. They're not even his: Tommy had forgot them at his place before leaving and Charlie had pocketed them. Tommy already smokes like a cartoon train; he doesn't need the extra pack.

"You know I don't smoke." Adam is looking at him in something akin to bafflement. Charlie has never been much for a drag, or a drink, really. Though wine is good and the pot Tommy's friends bring around help his mind de-stress before and after exams.

"I don't either, but Tommy has good cigs." He shrugs when Adam still seems disinterested and lights up. The small dot of orange is the only light there in the dark, on the bank of the frozen lake.

"Tommy?" Adam sounds disinterested. Almost. When Charlie doesn't answer, Adam looks over at him.

Charlie smirks. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh." Adam looks away again. "I'm glad you're here. The winters get cold without you."

"You're feeling sentimental."

"Yea."

Charlie fidgets. Last time they were here, just a year ago, they'd been loud and obnoxious, throwing snow at each other and generally disturbing the peace. Now Charlie can hardly breathe. Nothing has really changed in the interim – except that Charlie had gotten himself a boyfriend. A real one. It had hardly lasted a few months – a summer fling. Everyone has a summer fling. But for some reason, everything changed, everyone who knew him and Adam was suddenly on edge, as though waiting for a lit fuse to finally reach the grenade. If anything, it should have been a sign of Charlie letting go of the past. Onward and forward – toward law school and success and a beautiful, smart boyfriend who would never, ever…— Away from hockey and trying to be something he wasn't and Adam. Away from Adam.

Yea right.

He gets a boyfriend and everyone waits with baited breath to see…what? Well, that was long over with, so really, what is the point now? And yet, both he and Adam have submitted to the tension, to some fear that seems to haunt every moment between them now. Almost like Charlie had attempted a betrayal of something so deeply enshrined into the conscious of everyone who knows Charlie and Adam. CharlieandAdam – as though it is one word. And yet, they'd never been together, had never even been close to that.

So why is Adam stalling and Charlie defensive and silent?

He loves loving Adam, it's the most natural thing in the world. Like breathing. But it's hard to breathe in a cramped space, full of memories and half-memories and thoughts and feelings and all sorts of other ugly things that fill the space and suck all the air out, absorb it and feed off of it, leaving nothing behind but a suffocating vacuum.

Charlie wants him freedom. Almost as badly as he wants Adam.

"We don't have to talk about it, you know," Charlie tells him finally, allowing the cigarette to drop into the snow and go out. His breath is misty in the air and Charlie watches the small cloud rise and disperse in the darkness. He can feel Adam standing beside him, can almost imagine the look on his face, the slight purse of his mouth in confusion or annoyance.

But he speaks, his tone is uncharacteristically flat. "If we did, what would you have me say?"  
>Charlie laughs, darkly. <em>That you're sorry. Or that you're happy. Or…or…anything. <em>Anything is better than nothing, better than what he'd gotten from Adam all these years, better than mixed signals because everyone knows those just lead to train wrecks.

"I need you."

Charlie looks over, a little too quickly, a little too sharply. Adam's hat is askew and his scarf is sliding off. Charlie hadn't noticed that earlier. Adam's always so immaculate anyway. He  
>reaches over and fixes Adam's scarf, running the soft cashmere fabric through his fingers. "Why?" What a silly question.<p>

Adam licks his licks, catching a snowflake on the tip of his tongue in the process. It instantly melts. Charlie tries to make out Adam's features in the dark, but can't quite manage it beyond a general outline. "Because you were the only one who always forgave me."

And just like that, Charlie smiles.

It's a sad, knowing smile, but it's a smile. Oh Adam is wonderful, brilliant really. Beautiful, talented and clever. He's so easy to fall in love with, so addicting in all of his bred dignity, natural cockiness and learned introversion. Charming.

But the reason he and Charlie fulfill each other so perfectly, the reason why it's always been CharlieandAdam – one word – even though they've never been an item, is because they strike the perfect balance together. For all Adam needs and takes, Charlie loves and gives. It is so, so simple. How funny it is, that they are perfect for each other, and yet, all that perfection does is drowns and drains them. That is why Charlie chooses to not remember or not know certain things. To misremember and misrepresent to himself who he is and who Adam is and where they stand.

"I love you."

If Adam is taken aback, Charlie cannot see it in the dark. "I know."

Another smile. How easy it is to lie to himself. How much simpler it is to make things complicated when in reality – the _hard _reality – they are quite plain. Charlie nods and backs away.

There's just a tinge of panic in Adam's voice when he calls out after him. "Charlie? Charlie…it's not that I don't—…I really do—…You're the only—"

"I told you. We don't have to talk about it."

They never have before so why start now. It's easier to choose what you know when no one speaks of the truth.


End file.
